Hawk's Revenge

by N. M. Catalano

  “You’d better get over that real quick,” he grits out.

  “Not gonna happen.”

  “The boys aren’t happy with you,” he gives me a sideways glance.

  “I don’t work for the boys,” I reply indifferently.

  What do I fucking care?

  He glances at me one more time, long and hard. Finally, he says, “No, you don’t.” He turns his face to look out the windshield. “But,” he continues, “funny things happen when we’re on a job.”

  You haven’t seen crazy yet, but it’s coming.

  There’s a guard, one of Castillo’s men, I can tell from his clothes, stationed at the commercial entrance of the docks as we enter. Bo doesn’t even bother to look at him as he waves us past.

  I finally look at him. “Yeah, they do. And this isn’t my first job. Yet here I am.”

  He meets my glare when we park at the empty pier. “Yes, you are. Funny thing that is. How did that happen again?”

  I shake my head and tsk. “Joe was a friend of a friend.”

  “Your friend have a name?”

  “Nope. What are we doing here?” I cut him off.

  He stares at me long and hard a moment before he opens the door. “We’re picking up a shipment.”

  He gets out and walks to the docked fishing boat. I follow behind him. Down at the other end of the pier several shipping containers sit unattended with no one around. It seems all the activity is down here. There are four heavily armed guards, each of them sneer at me and don’t move. My reputation must have preceded me. I dip my head at them, unfazed. It’s dark, but I can make out the words Southern Shore Enterprises on the side of the vessel. The company Cornelius had told me owns all the boats and charters down here.

  I’d bet my ass Castillo owns Southern Shore Enterprises.

  There are two Mexicans on board. No words are exchanged as they start to unload their cargo of several wooden crates.

  “Go open the back of the van,” Bo tells me. He follows me carrying one of the boxes as I go back and I pull open both doors. “Let’s get this shit loaded up, then we’ve got to see someone.”

  I don’t say a word as I pack the remaining crates and Bo stands aside, watching me, talking quietly with the other guards. He’s pissed off, I get that, and I’ve got to do the grunt work being as I’m the new guy and I’ve pissed off everyone within a fifty-mile radius. Doesn’t mean I have to like it.

  “Let’s go,” he states as he slams the doors when the last box is loaded.

  We ride in silence for a few blocks passing prostitutes and local gangbangers, blacks, Mexicans, and rednecks, they’re all here.

  “Something happen with a woman?” Bo is the kind of person who apparently doesn’t like silence. Sucks for him.

  “Yeah.”

  I see him nod.

  “I get it.”

  Yeah, no he doesn’t.

  He slows at what appears to be an abandoned warehouse, then pulls behind it and parks. “This is it,” he gets out. “Get the boxes,” Bo barks as he approaches the backdoor of the building.

  I grab a crate from the back of the van and follow. When he opens the double doors, light explodes into the alley from the interior. Inside I immediately see five armed guards at strategic locations positioned in front of every door, all of them loaded down with AK47s, pistols, and blades. The place is busy, filled with women and kids, most of them are probably illegals, the others both white and black, but none of them look at us when we enter. They’re all at metal tables cutting open dark balls and brick shapes, mixing them with powders and liquids in a systematic routine that screams they’ve been doing this a long time, and every single person’s face looks devoid of any emotion. There are scales and boxes strewn across every table that’s occupied with a worker along with small pharmaceutical ingredients…and shoe polish? On the other side of the room is what looks like a stove with beakers and glass bowls and a whole bunch of other shit being mixed together.

  Drug lab.

  “Put the boxes over there,” Bo tells me pointing to the opposite side of the room.

  I don’t hesitate and go back to the van to unload what I now believe are crates of black tar heroin.

  Bo gets into a conversation with one of the guards, probably the guy in charge here. I can’t make out what they’re saying, but I know they’re watching me. I don’t look at anyone; I don’t need to.

  This is Castillo’s manufacturing facility, probably only one of many.

  When I get the last box unloaded, Bo yells from the same place he’s been standing with his buddy, “Now we’ve got to take these back with us.” He points to a stack of ten boxes lined against the front wall.

  Business is good.

  He continues his conversation as I get the shipment loaded.

  He’s behind me when I get the last box in the van. “Let’s get back,” he slaps me on the back, now sounding like the guy from last night, my pal.

  He gets behind the wheel and turns the radio on, this time he sings while he drives. Seems like a little bit of drugs is good for him too. We drive to Joe’s bar, the place is already packed, but this time Bo pulls up beside one of the semi-truck rigs with a man smoking a cigarette waiting beside it.

  I turn to look at him. “Let me guess, you want me to load the boxes in there.”

  He actually laughs.

  “I guess I’m the bitch tonight.”

  “We’ve all got to start somewhere,” he laughs again.

  The driver and Bo talk when I get the drugs transferred to his truck, their eyes constantly on me.

  When I’m finished, he comes up to me. “All done. Time to get to work.”

  “Thought that’s what I’ve been doing.”

  Bo lets out another good hearted sound of amusement as he heads toward the front door. Seems like Bo’s panties are finally untwisted. “You really are a funny guy.”

  Yeah, a fucking riot.

  I hear the door slam to the rig I just loaded up. It starts and the lights come on, then I see the load of drugs I just delivered move out and onto the street before it disappears from sight. Can’t say I feel good about my night’s duties so far.

  Business is good as usual, both inside and out of Joe’s Bar. Once inside, instinctively, my eyes move to the bar. A strange and unfamiliar feeling of calm whispers through me when I see Jo. She’s pouring drafts. I notice my shoulders relax when our eyes meet. I don’t like it, and I definitely don’t need it. Forcing my gaze away, I see that the DJ has once again taken his place on stage. I’d be lying if I said I don’t feel some sense of relief. Tonight he’s got a lamp over his table that wasn’t there yesterday, and he’s wearing sunglasses. I glance over at Dave, who’s now wearing a huge scowl along with the bruises, and is standing guard at the door that leads to Castillo’s inner sanctum.

  Interesting.

  “Hey, you’re new here. I’m Daisy,” a sing-song voice chirps beside me.

  I glance at the female standing beside me playing with the necklace that dips inside her low-cut snug mini dress that probably barely covers her ass. She’s wearing a shy grin and is looking up at me from lowered lashes.

  I don’t make it a practice of participating in sport sex. I fuck when I need to, like exercising, eating, and shitting. A necessity to blow off steam. This girl would have served that purpose. That was pre-Jo. It’s now post-Jo, and the world has changed for some unknown fucking reason. It seems like I went to sleep, and when I woke up, my dick and my goddamn mind is locked up and only Jo’s got the combination.

  But I’ve got to fit in. More than that, I’ve got to keep any attention away from me having anything to do with Jo.

  “Yeah. Hawk.” At least my sterling personality hasn’t changed.

  “It’s nice to meet you,” she bats her eyelashes. “If you need a someone to, um, show you around, let me know. I’d love to help you out,” her eyes meet mine as she drags her lower lip between her teeth, “with anything. Anything at all.”

&
nbsp; What I want to say is ‘Thanks, but no thanks.’ Because who wants McDonalds after they’ve had five-star cuisine? Instead, I force out the words, “Yeah, that’d be great.” And just to bring it home, I drag a finger down the chain that leads to her tits as I take a step closer. “Phone number.”

  “Really?” she breathes out heavily as she presses her chest into my touch.

  “Yeah, I could use someone to show me a good time.” I even give her a fake smile.

  Because this whole thing is bullshit.

  “Oh, Hawk, I’d show you a really good time,” Daisy bites her lip.

  Just like you’ve probably shown every other cock in here a good time.

  “Can’t wait.”

  I drop my hand, relieved to break the contact. She digs around the small purse she’s got slung over her shoulder and pulls out a pen and what looks like a receipt, then jots her name and number on it.

  “Call me. Any time,” she hands it to me, smiling coyly.

  “Promise,” I shove it in my front pocket without glancing at it. “Gotta go, beautiful,” I tell her and step around her. I don’t even have to look to know Jo’s burning a hole in my back with a glare, I can feel it like a red hot brander with the word Asshole on it. I shake it off as the phone buzzes in my pocket. When I retrieve it, I see Bo’s already behind the bar grabbing a bottle of beer from the frig. He gives me a snide grin and a wink.

  The prick is playing with fire.

  Nothing has affected me tonight, not moving the drugs, not being the little bitch, none of that has bothered me like Bo back there with Jo. That is some unfinished business I’m going to thoroughly enjoy.

  I hear all went well. Come to the office. Although, there’s no name, the text is from Castillo.

  Shoving the phone back in my pocket, the weight of my Beretta like another body part against my skin, I head toward the office door as my gaze slides back and forth between Jo and Bo. As I walk, I tear my attention from Bo toeing the line of getting too close to Jo, like I could give two shits. Like I don’t care he’s just this side of getting in her space as he spews some of that shit from his mouth that never stops. I wish I knew what he was saying. He’s fucking with me intentionally, and that’s fine because I will get my pound of flesh, (and then some), but he sure as hell doesn’t want to piss off Castillo. My eyes shift to Dave still standing in front of the door I’m approaching and I notice he’s smirking at me as well. I keep walking as I look at the other guards. They’re all watching me with that same shit eating grin.

  They’re all part of this stupid fucking game.

  Game on, boys, we’ll see who’ll be the last one laughing.

  Now standing in front of Dave, he doesn’t move, so I wait. “He called,” I finally say, not in the mood for this shit.

  “Yeah,” he grunts.

  I wait him out as he tries to prove he’s a tough guy until he steps aside and lets me pass. Joe and his side kick are in their usual places standing guard outside Castillo’s door. The one thing keeping me pacified is knowing I’m going to fuck their world up. They both tense when I enter and grin. I gesture offhandedly to the door. Joe gives me a hard glare before he turns and knocks three times.

  “Yeah,” comes Castillo’s voice from the other side.

  “Hawk,” Joe grits out.

  Inside I laugh.

  “Let him in.”

  Joe turns around, slowly turns the doorknob as he stares me down, and pushes the door open for me as he steps aside. The door I just came through opens at the same time.

  “Hey,” it’s Bo.

  “Let him in,” Castillo calls again almost distractedly from his seat behind the desk, his attention on the computer in front of him.

  Bo and I both enter and approach our boss with Joe right behind us. Tonight Castillo’s alone.

  “I hear things went very smoothly,” Castillo addresses Bo, his eyes slipping from him to me.

  “Like clockwork,” Bo grins with a stupid smirk on his battered face.

  Castillo sits back in his chair and steeples his fingers in front of him as he stares at me. “Good,” his voice is quiet. “I like the lack of…distraction.”

  “Yeah, me too, boss. It makes things run so much faster. We were able to get everything…,” Bo starts to ramble.

  “Shut the fuck up, Bo. That’s a distraction,” Castillo barks with his eyes still fixed on me.

  Even without looking at him, I can see the wash of crimson spread over Bo’s face beneath all the bruising.

  “Sorry, boss,” Bo mumbles.

  Castillo straightens and snaps his fingers calling his lap dog, “Joe,” then turns his attention back to the computer in front of him. We’re dismissed.

  Joe takes a step toward us and slaps each of us in the arm with a thick letter size manila envelope.

  I look down at it as Bo says, “Thanks, boss,” and slides it into his back pocket.

  Our pay for moving the drugs.

  Reluctantly, I take it and pocket it as well, and already feel the burn from it searing the guilt into my flesh.

  “Let’s go,” Joe tells us.

  Joe holds the door open for us as we exit, his eyes filled with disgust as I pass.

  And for the first time on a job, that is exactly what I feel.

  CHAPTER 13

  Jo

  Things are different. I don’t know what it is, but the air is heavy and thick with it. Like the dark clouds of a category five hurricane closing in. You know it’s going to be bad, and it promises to destroy everything it touches. And there’s absolutely nothing you can do about it.

  The first wave of storm clouds was Niles. He didn’t even speak to me when he came into the bar. He always makes a beeline for me first. Tonight he avoided me like the plague, I knew something was wrong. I went to him at the DJ booth. I immediately saw the black eye behind his sunglasses, and his cracked lip. I was furious, and on the verge of a meltdown. Seeing Niles like that triggered all the memories from the night Frank took his sick and demented time teaching me that lesson. I was whiplashing between wanting to tear apart whoever had done that to Niles, and wanting to hide. When I demanded to know who it was, he clammed up like a battered wife and refused to say anything about it. I knew how he felt. However, I didn’t miss his stolen glances at Dave, who also seemed to have gotten the same makeover from the looks of him.

  Even in my split state of mind of fight or flight, all night long I noticed the guys had been acting strangely. Normally they never have anything to do with each other, but not tonight. Tonight they all had their Team Dickhead jerseys on and were one big happy family.

  So did Hawk when he’d left with Bo earlier. And especially when he came back and was talking to Daisy, the little tramp. She’s Jimmy’s sister, another guy who works for Frank, but not as one of his meathead guards. He hasn’t been around for a while; too bad he didn’t take his slut sister with him wherever he went.

  Seeing Hawk talking to Daisy, jealousy had raised her viscous head and grabbed me by the tit, giving it a good hard twist. If a psychologist had gotten a hold of me, they’d have locked me up in a padded cell in a heartbeat with all of the shit going on inside my head.

  Things had gone from bad, to, ‘Oh, hell no!’ real quick.

  So what, we had sex, big deal?

  For regular people it’s not a big deal. However, for someone who’s been raped, beaten, and tortured, intimacy is nearly impossible.

  Because Hawk and I didn’t just fuck. He’d flayed me open and purged some of the poison that had infected me the night of my lesson. He was a cruise missile dose of chemo therapy to the cancer that had slowly and methodically been eating away at my soul. The thing with chemo is one dose is not enough, especially when the disease was galloping toward stage four. All it does is make you sicker while waging a war inside of you. I thought I was forever incapable of any kind of intimacy; touch, tenderness, closeness. Hawk and his no mercy, take-no-prisoners, I-don’t-ask-for-fucking-permission attitude had blown a
part my cell and barreled his way in like a Humvee powered by rocket fuel. He’d annihilated all of my defenses and had left me reeling. And wanting more. The shitty thing is, with all of the turmoil raging inside me, I hope I’m not worse now than I was before.

  I was pretty fucking bad before.

  That night…

  With one hand crushing my throat, Frank held out his other one. “Hand me a knife,” he stated with a sick, demented smile on his face.

  He hadn’t even looked away, his dark, flat, emotionless stare stayed fixed on me as his men held my arms and legs taut. Frank cut my shirt down the middle leaving a bloody trail from the tip of the blade grazing my flesh as he went. I didn’t even feel it; I must have been in shock. Nor did any of the other nicks he’d inflicted when he cut my jeans from my legs. Unfortunately, those were the only wounds that hadn’t registered on my nervous system. I’m not sure if drawing blood had been intentional when he’d gotten me naked, but he made good use of it. He smeared the blood over my sex before he fucked me with the handle of the knife. I didn’t scream, I wasn’t going to give him the satisfaction. It hurt so bad as he plunged it in me over and over again, I gritted my teeth so hard, my jaw ached, but I stared right back into his evil eyes and didn’t flinch.

  “I’m going to enjoy breaking you, Jo,” his tone was calm but there was a hint of madness to his voice. “I knew you’d be tough, that’s why I bided my time, waiting for just the right moment. I was hoping for it. It makes the conquest that much sweeter.”

  He pulled the knife from me and set it carefully on the desk beside my head, so close I could smell myself, the mixture of blood and me, making me want to vomit. Then he straightened, undid his belt, and slid it from the loops. My heart was pounding, my head was throbbing from the punch he’d given me, and my breath was coming in fast jerky intakes. I could barely breathe. Frank folded the belt in half.

  He was going to beat me with it.

  “I’ve imagined how your skin was going to look so many times after I was done with you,” he smiled at me.